Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by mixedup77
Summary: Castiel considers the penance for what he's done. AU from about 7.17 on. Once I get there. Now NEW and IMPROVED with Sam and Dean! Multi-chapter
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: _I've been missing Castiel something fierce so I wrote a little something about him and what he might be doing right now. Almost certainly destined to be AU but let me know what you think. If anyone's interested, I may turn this into an actual story. Well, I might do that even if no one is interested. Either way, please review and tell me what you think. Much obliged._

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately I am still not the proud owner of the rights to Supernatural. Nothing is mine. I'm not making any money from this. Please don't sue me.

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><p>Castiel watched the car pass, sending up a fan of dingy rainwater in its wake. The sight of its sleek black side gave him pause, kept his eyes pinned to the vehicle until it turned onto a side street and disappeared from view.<p>

He'd always enjoyed sitting in parks, watching the world pass by in slow motion. Children flying high on swings. Mothers sitting in groups, cradling babies, and talking about what they made for dinner last night. Busy and peaceful all at the same time. Teeming with life. Castiel had spent hours sitting on a bench just like this one listening to conversations just like the ones he was listening to now.

He wished it filled him with the same joy it used to. There had been a time when this was all he needed to be content.

But that was before.

Before he had learned a new emotion.

Shame.

He sat with his hands folded in his lap and prayed to his Father for forgiveness, wondering how long it would be before he'd done enough penance, until he felt he'd made amends for his trespasses. At the rate he was going, Castiel estimated that it would be at least a few more decades. Possibly longer.

His eyes searched the street for more black cars and he prayed for the ability to forgive himself. Unfortunately that was one skill he had not yet learned.


	2. Chapter 2

The confessional was stiflingly close, almost claustrophobic, around him but Castiel found comfort in the dim lighting and the lingering smell of incense in the air. This was his place. One of the few where he felt he belonged. He lowered himself onto the kneeler, pressing his hands together as he'd seen the other humans do. Angels didn't pray this way. They didn't cross themselves and fall to their knees, eyes closed. But it seemed to be the ritual in this place so Castiel followed suit. It did offer a measure of solace. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he was whole again, raising his voice in concert with his countless brothers and sisters. With his eyes closed, the world did not seem so quiet.

The window between his cubicle and the next opened with a scrape. The priest sat on the other side, his face overlaid with the intricate crisscross lattice of the privacy screen.

Castiel closed his eyes in concentration and tried to put his dwindling Grace behind his words. He licked his lips. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession." His voice was so rough he could barely get the words out. He hadn't spoken in days but he'd felt the need today. He'd tried this so many times already, never visiting any church too often, apprehensive that he would be remembered. Even so, when he opened his mouth, he let the truth pour forth without hesitation. He only hoped that his Father was listening and would understand. "I betrayed my friends and allied myself with a demon. I told myself that it was for good. That it was the only way. But I see now that it was pride." He bowed his head to his folded hands. "I wish that I could say that I would do things differently now, but I… cannot. I don't know what else I could have done, how I could have saved them. And I feel lost because of it." His eyes drifted towards the heavens, visible only in his mind but there nonetheless. "What was the right thing to do, Father? What should I have done?" He wasn't sure if he was speaking to the man in front of him or to his own Father.

There was a long silence from the priest and Castiel shifted uncomfortably. His knees were beginning to ache despite the padding on the kneeler. It was a feeling he was still becoming accustomed to, strange and hard to identify at first.

Finally the priest cleared his throat and ran a finger around his collar as if it were too tight. "What is it that you're looking for?" he asked.

Castiel frowned. No one had asked him that before. What was he looking for? Not a return to Heaven. No. He wasn't even sure that that was possible. He looked around the dark paneled walls of the confessional as if they could provide him with an answer. Strangely enough they did. When he looked at the box around him, he wished that he was somewhere else. Not even a place so much as another time. A time when he had not been so alone. Even when he couldn't hear the voices of his brothers and sisters, he had not been alone. But he had destroyed that place. _His _place. The only one like it in the world. He'd had a place for himself made out of friendship and cheap motel rooms and exhaust fumes. "I wish for forgiveness."

The priest spoke slowly as if he were choosing his words from a distant memory. "Forgiveness must be sought with your whole heart," he said. "But there is no sin that cannot be repented in the eyes of the Lord. If you truly wish to atone, He has already forgiven you."

Castiel couldn't help a huff of air the might have been a bone dry laugh.

"You don't believe that?" the priest asked. It was a question of simple curiosity. If it had been anything else, Castiel might not have responded at all.

"These past months, I believe that I have come to understand Dean's surprise when I raised him from perdition." He glanced down at himself. "I have done things for which I cannot be forgiven. And yet I've been saved. I am alive when I should be dead. It is a strange and humbling experience."

"Perhaps the Lord still has work for you."

The mention filled Castiel with something akin to panic. "Work?" He shook his head, mouth gone dry.

"Have you gone to these friends of yours and asked their forgiveness?"

"No."

"If you wish for absolution you must seek it before God and man. Only then will you find peace."

"What I have done…" He paused and pressed his lips tight. "It is too much to ask their forgiveness."

"That's what makes it penance. If it were easy, we would never learn the error of our ways."

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><p>Castiel sat in the park long after the sun went down and the air turned chill. At his request, the priest had given him ten Hail Marys and twenty Our Fathers to say as part of his penance. Reciting the words from memory was perhaps the closest he came to order these days. He sat on the bench, repeating the prayers with silent lips. Could his brothers and sisters hear him still? Were they listening as he repeated these words, taught to him by humans?<p>

He added his own silent request to his prayer and pressed himself up to standing with his hands on his knees.

The playground equipment was forlorn and empty in the fading light. It lacked the vitality it had during the day when the sun shone and children hung upside down from the monkey bars. Castiel had thought the name 'monkey bars' strange but particularly apt for the way the children hung from them. He'd often wondered what the thing was called. Now he knew. He'd also learned the name of the swings and the metal cage, oddly designated as 'the jungle gym.' He didn't understand that one. It seemed humans had a fondness for equating children with wild animals.

He drew his suit jacket tighter around him, tucking the sides together so they wouldn't flap, when the wind picked up. At night, the air was cold enough to make his hands ache.

Sometimes when he watched the bustle of activity in the park, he tried to imagine Sam and Dean as children. No doubt Dean would have favored the jungle gym. Castiel felt sure he would have enjoyed scrambling to the top of the metal cage and looking down on the world. Sam might have spent his time on the swings, pumping his legs until he soared high, almost over the top bar and back around again, flying as free as he was likely to get in this life. Castiel had seen many children jump from the swing while it was still in motion, laughing as if it were a game. The Winchesters would certainly have done that too. He wished he could have seen it. Young and smiling, faces turned to the sky. Innocent.

Distracted, he pressed a hand to the tightness in his chest. His muscles bunched beneath his secondhand flesh. They'd grown tight from the ice in the air and the hours of aimless walking in search of revelation. Another day had passed without him finding it. Woodchips crunched under foot as Castiel left the park behind heading back towards the warmth that his body seemed to crave.

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><p>Author's Note:<em> I give the priest credit for handling Castiel's crazy confession without freaking out. Fictional or not, he did well. Either way, please forgive me. It's been a lot longer than one week since my last confession so I'm sure it wasn't quite accurate. (: Oh well. I tried. And I know I said this might be a oneshot but I just can't seem to leave Castiel alone. He's like the last puppy in the box. For some reason he ends up with shorter chapters too. Go figure.<br>_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Castiel meditated on forgiveness for the next seven days.

Forgiveness was something reserved for humans, not angels. Angels were created only to obey. But the fact that Castiel still walked the earth at a snail's pace, breathing in and out, and eating at regular intervals made him nearly human. As much as he was likely to get. So perhaps that meant forgiveness was open to him as well. At least from God if not from the Winchesters. He smiled ruefully.

His hands fisted in his lap, skin pulling tight over his knuckles. It was strange to be so stubbornly substantial.

He used to consider the human lifespan to be short. Over in an instant. He had watched from a distance for thousands of years but now here he was, close up, and everything seemed impossibly slow. He walked to the same park nearly every day, counting his steps. He sat and the world move around him. Sometimes he walked the city instead, going in circles, waiting for the sun to set so he could begin it all again. It seemed an eternity from one night to the next. Aimless. An endless parade of breathing and eating and bathing and waiting, always waiting. He wasn't even sure what he was waiting for. Maybe he was just waiting for it all to end.

But it didn't.

Some days he was convinced that this _was_ his punishment. Enduring seemed worse than returning to nothingness. But now on those days he thought of the priest's words. They had been gentle, what Castiel hoped his Father's voice might sound like if he was ever to hear it, though he was sure he'd lost the possibility of that privilege now.

Still he endured.

Every night, he returned to the place he'd left, standing in line with the other humans for their bowl of hot soup handed out by nameless people with kind faces. He sat at tables packed with people speaking in murmurs and boisterous voices. They jostled around him but still strangely managed to keep their distance. No one touched Castiel, as if they knew he wasn't quite like them. He hadn't missed the furtive glances in his direction. He wasn't sure what caused them. He doubted it was his now ragged suit and his tie that would never again be the shade of blue that it once was. There were others in the shelter wearing suits or strange amalgams of borrowed clothes. Another kind nameless person had offered him new clothing when he had first shown up on the steps of the shelter but Castiel had turned them down, stubbornly clinging to the one thing he had left. Ironic since these clothes had never belonged to him, not really. He wore Jimmy's shoes. His shirt. His tie. His face. Castiel owned nothing. Not even the flesh surrounding him. It all belonged to Jimmy Novak. Not that Jimmy would mind, Castiel thought ruefully. He hadn't felt the man's soul move within him ever since his return. Perhaps Jimmy had gone to Heaven now that Castiel could not. He hoped so. It was the least he deserved. But Castiel couldn't help feeling a little lonely now that he was gone, his quiet but persistent presence. It would have been a comfort now in his exile. A kindred spirit of sorts. He recognized this as selfishness.

Castiel sat with his bowl of soup and raised the spoon to his lips. Immediately, he reared back with a hiss. He'd forgotten again that the soup was scalding hot. His tongue already itched from the burn. He sighed.

Human life was full of so many rules to adhere to. Check your soup. Wash your hands after using the restroom. Brush your hair before going outside. Eat. Go to sleep. Wake up. Get dressed. Watch your step. Wait your turn. It was aggravating how much he didn't know just as it was aggravating to realize how much he'd forgotten. Two weeks ago, Castiel had been horrified to realize that he could no longer speak Romanian. The day after, he'd forgotten the names of three score of his brothers and sisters. It was an endless progression of loss. Now Castiel would be hard pressed to recite all 366 books written by Enoch.

Castiel frowned and returned to his soup. He was careful to check the temperature this time.

When he finished, he carried his soiled dishes to the counter to return them. The woman there watched him with a smile. It was the first time anyone had met his eyes in days. He wished to smile back but his lips refused to curve. He didn't force it. He knew from experience that the result would be unappealing if he did.

"You look troubled," said the woman before Castiel could move away.

He wasn't sure of the appropriate response to her observation so he bobbed his head and remained silent.

"Don't talk much, do ya?" She chuckled. "Strong, silent type. I get it."

As she spoke, Castiel gave the woman a more thorough consideration. Judging by her attire, she favored the color pink. Her t-shirt was quick to inform him _You have died of dysentery_. Castiel looked at it in some alarm before he concluded that the statement was meant as a joke. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, the shade a mix of deep red and brown that Castiel was not entirely certain came from nature. As he studied her, she did the same, her wide set eyes moving over his face as if she were cataloging a new species of animal. She was not particularly old. Certainly younger than Sam and Dean judging by her unlined face and open manner. There was nothing guarded about her. She spoke quickly, using her hands for emphasis and nearly dropping the bowl he had handed her a moment ago. She set the dish aside, giving it an extra pat before she went on. "I've seen you around for months now but you never talk to anyone." Her cheeks flushed pink and her hands flew up as if to ward off attack. "Not that I've been looking or anything. I'm Bonnie." Her right hand dangled in the air between them until Castiel remembered to shake it. Then Bonnie looked up at him expectantly.

Castiel stared back.

"What's your name?" Bonnie asked finally.

"Castiel." A moment too late, he remembered that the Winchesters always offered fake names at times like these. Apparently if he was going to remain human, Castiel would need to learn how to lie as well.

One of Bonnie's eyebrows inched up her forehead. "That's an unusual name." Castiel watched her carefully for any signs that she recognized his true nature. After a bit of reflection, she nodded. "But I like it."

He was glad that she didn't seem to know his name. Never had it been such a blessing to be anonymous.

"Where'd it come from? Don't see a lot of Castiels around these parts." Bonnie slid sideways behind the counter, arms out to collect dishes from another person who'd come up behind Castiel as she spoke. She set them aside without looking down.

"It was given to me by my Father."

"Family name, huh?" She nodded again. "Same here. I got my grandma's name. Personally, I think I would have done better as a Samantha. Don't I look like a Sam?" She leaned forward, offering herself up for inspection.

"I had a friend named Sam," Castiel said in a quiet voice.

Bonnie's eyes lit up with interest. "Why 'had'? What happened to him?"

Castiel looked down. He had said too much. Of that he was certain.

"Oh," Bonnie said after a long moment of silence. "Sorry. Touchy subject. But it was nice meeting you. Castiel…" She waved after him as he retreated without another word.

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><p>Author's Note: <em>In case anyone was concerned, this is not going to be a CasOC pairing. I just think Castiel needed someone to talk to. Gets lonely being a fallen angel, I'm sure. And the shirt Bonnie is wearing actually exists (because I have one). Anyone who used to play Oregon Trail on the computers at school should get the reference. Hurray for computer game/clothing cameos._

_I should probably also note that I don't know much about how homeless shelters work. Please forgive any inaccuracies. I never said research was one of my strong suits._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Thinking deep thoughts?"

Castiel looked up, only mildly startled to find Bonnie dropping into the seat opposite him. She had singled him out for conversation more and more in the last few weeks but this was the first time she'd come to the table specifically to speak with him. Today her shirt declared_ Mustaches: like mittens for your lip._

"You've hardly touched your soup today. Not a big fan of split pea?" Bonnie gestured at the bowl in front of him.

He considered the congealing green soup. A few carrot chunks floated near the top like bright orange icebergs. He had already eaten half a dozen spoonfuls, too preoccupied to taste a thing. He had no idea if he was a 'fan' or not.

"Relax. It's not that hard of a question," Bonnie said. She propped her head on one hand and gave him a cockeyed look. "What's up?"

Castiel glanced towards the ceiling before he could stop himself. "I was meditating."

"About?"

"Evil."

Bonnie's eyes went wide before she started to laugh. "That's pretty hardcore for lunchtime." She shook her head. "You're pretty funny, Castiel. Why evil? Why not fluffy kittens or world peace or something?"

"The things I've done… It's too much to ask them for forgiveness yet. But perhaps I can atone in some small measure if I resume my former duties."

When he fell silent again, Bonnie leaned forward. "What duties?"

Castiel looked into her eyes and for a moment he saw Dean in her. The bright eyes tinted with concern. It made his chest ache in that now familiar way. "Fighting evil," Castiel said.

At that, her expression went from mildly concerned to outright stunned. "Fighting evil. Fighting evil how? Like putting-the-bad-guys-behind-bars fighting evil? You were a cop?"

The lie was on his lips but it seemed too much like another sin to Castiel. "Something like that," was all he said.

Bonnie sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Castiel the cop," she mused. Then she nodded to herself. "I can kinda see it. You have that bad ass vibe about you even if you do dress like my great uncle Milton. So how are you going to 'fight evil'?" she asked with air quotes.

In his previous stint as nearly human, money had been required. Quite a bit of it. The Winchesters kept a glove compartment full of fake IDs and credit cards. They also had a trunk full of supplies. Castiel had none of those things. "I'm not sure," Castiel admitted after a long pause. "I have no weapons and am not proficient at lying."

"Well, okay then." Bonnie pressed her lips together and tossed him a skeptical look but she didn't question his logic. "First order of business, you need some new clothes. You'll never get a job looking like that."

Castiel looked down at his stained and wrinkled suit. His tie had started to fray at the end. "New clothes," he repeated. Then the rest of her words registered. "A job?"

"Well, yeah. A job. How did you think you were going to make money?"

Castiel thought it best not to answer that question.

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><p>Two days later, Bonnie appeared with a lumpy plastic garbage bag in her arms. She pulled Castiel aside before he'd had his soup and pushed the bag into his hands.<p>

"What is this?" Castiel asked. He cast a longing look at the line of people shuffling towards food. Tonight the shelter was serving chicken noodle soup. He'd grown quite fond of the curling noodles in the broth and the way the steam eased his sinuses. He'd been concerned with the increasing difficulty of breathing through his nose for days until Bonnie informed him it was 'a common cold.' Common or not, Castiel disliked it quite a bit. But the soup helped.

"Open it," Bonnie said, calling his attention back from the soup line.

Castiel struggled with the knotted handles for a moment before the bag came open. Inside were clothes folded into slightly messy squares. He looked up expectantly.

"They're for you. For your job hunt," she said, turning a little red when he didn't immediately respond. "It's not much, just some stuff I had around the house. They looked like they should fit." Her gaze fled to the wall and then the floor.

Castiel looked into the bag again with newfound interest. He didn't know his body's clothing size but, when he pulled out a shirt, it appeared to be appropriate. "Thank you."

"So… you like 'em?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Great." Bonnie finally looked him in the eye again. "I figured you might need help finding a job too so I did some looking. Think I found something for you. You're kinda helpless for a full grown man, you know that?"

"I have been told," Castiel said. He couldn't help a tiny frown.

…_Because without your power you're basically just a baby in a trench coat._

Bonnie waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay? You looked kinda sad for a second."

"I was just thinking… about someone I used to know."

She nodded in understanding. "Your friends?"

Castiel gathered the bag of clothing in his arms. "I have been told that I must seek forgiveness before God and man to find peace. In this case, I believe God may be the more forgiving one."

"Sounds about right," Bonnie snorted. "But you know what they say. Baby steps. We'll get you a job. Get you back on your feet. Everything will work out. You'll see." She flashed him a brilliant smile.

Castiel looked at her and wondered how she could smile and look so sad at the same time.

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><p>Author's Note: <em>And again with the short chapters. I don't know how this keeps happening. But at least Castiel is making progress. I figured he'd had enough time to mope. Time for some action. It also pains me to take him out of his standard white shirt, black suit but it is a little (blood) stained. I don't think anyone would hire him like that. But never fear. I have a great job all picked out. It was inspired by something Misha Collins said in an interview. XD<em>

_For the very inquisitive, Bonnie's shirt this time around is also real. I found it on the Mental Floss website. I covet that shirt. A lot. Unfortunately coveting is a sin._


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: **_Vague spoilers for episode 7.06 ahead. They won't kill you but you've been warned all the same._

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Castiel looked at the sign on the building with some trepidation. "What is this place?"

"You've never been to Walmart? Not even once?" Bonnie stood beside him looking nervous enough for the both of them.

Castiel shook his head and allowed her to lead him through the automatic doors.

Barely an hour later, Castiel found himself employed with stocking shelves in the back of the place called Walmart. From his brief tour, he'd gathered that it was some sort of oversized store selling a dizzying array of goods. Clothes, food, shoes, table lamps, and wafer thin televisions vied for his attention. At first it was difficult to keep his mind on the task at hand when everything seemed determined to distract him.

Every few minutes, his supervisor Dale, a man with a rapidly receding hairline and a hooked nose, came to check on Castiel's progress, smiling and fidgeting as if he were uncomfortable in his presence. He'd given Castiel the job as a favor to Bonnie and had walked him through the store at breakneck speed before putting him to work. Then Bonnie had disappeared with the promise to pick Castiel up 'after work.' Castiel had no idea when that would be. But the job did have a certain mindless comfort to it. He took the boxed items from the storage room, pulling them on a large wheeled pallet and stacking them on the shelves in the places that Dale told him. Customers moved around him as if he were invisible. In a way, it reminded Castiel of what it had been like before he took a body, moving among humans, unseen, unheard, unnoticed. It was not a wholly welcome feeling. A reminder of his past. But his job was quiet. Meditative in its simplicity. And Castiel was nothing if not efficient. He was good at the mechanical task even if he had no idea what it was that he was putting on shelves. It didn't matter. All he needed to know was that by doing so he would be given money. And money, he hoped, might get him one step closer to forgiveness.

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><p>"Tell me about these friends of yours?" Bonnie asked one day when she stopped in to visit Castiel at work. "What happened with them?"<p>

Castiel froze in the act of stacking formula on a shelf. A dozen smiling babies grinned at him from the sides of the cans, toothless and innocent. "It's difficult to explain."

"Try me. Maybe it'll make you feel better." Bonnie handed him another canister with a reassuring smile.

So Castiel took a deep breath and told her. Not the whole truth certainly, but as much as he had told any priest he had ever confessed to, as much as he could safely confide without suggesting that he suffered from some kind of delusion. "I was not strong enough. I betrayed my friends, my family. At the time, I believed I was doing the right thing. Protecting them. Saving everyone. But, given the results, I was incorrect."

"Wow," Bonnie said.

"And in the end, Dean…" When he looked, Castiel found that his hands were shaking. "He helped me, though I had done so much harm. To him. And to Sam. I would like to apologize to them…"

"But you're afraid," Bonnie supplied after a moment.

Castiel scoffed. Then he exhaled a tiny, humorless laugh. "I suppose I am."

"You want to know what I think?" Bonnie asked.

He nodded.

"It's not a crime to want to help but you're only one man, Castiel. You can't do everything on your own no matter how strong you think you are. Everyone makes mistakes. And it sounds like yours was trying to do too much. That kind of pressure… it changes a person. I've seen it." Bonnie looked down, tugging the strap of her purse awkwardly. "What's most important is what you do afterwards. Don't make the same mistakes twice. When you're ready, go see those friends of yours and apologize. Tell them how much you need them. Make sure they listen. Besides… I doubt these friends of yours are saints."

Immediately, memories of Sam and Dean sprang to mind. Fighting, struggling, shoving back against a fate that wanted to tear them apart and bury them. Their lives were covered in blood and wrong choices but in the end, they always managed the impossible. He admired them for that. To him, they seemed like two of the most perfect humans in the world but… "No. They are not saints."

"Hey, you should smile more often," Bonnie said. "It looks nice."

Castiel hadn't even realized that he was.

* * *

><p>Castiel stared the angel in the face and frowned. His head cocked to one side. So this was what humans thought of him and his brothers and sisters.<p>

The little statue was made of resin, its frail looking arms raised skyward. Dots of paint colored her cheeks a blushing pink. Large eyed rabbits and other woodland creatures gathered at her feet amongst the molded moss and flowers. Castiel wondered which of his family this angel was meant to be. Certainly not Gabriel. Perhaps it was Thuriel. Thuriel did have a fondness for wild animals. Beside it on the shelf stood others, all of them smiling or looking benignly serene. Not one amongst them looked capable of wielding a sword, let alone battling demonic hordes.

Castiel reached out and pulled an angel down from the shelf, turning it over in his hands. Chubby cheeks and fluffy wings. This was how humans thought of him, of his family.

No wonder Dean was so surprised when they first met. The discrepancy was striking. But even more surprising was Castiel's reluctance to replace the statue on the shelf.

When he left work that day, the little angel came with him, the first thing he had ever truly owned.

* * *

><p>Life had settled into an acceptable kind of rhythm. He got up and dressed in clothes from the bag Bonnie had given him. This time, Castiel drew out a soft red and green plaid shirt and jeans. He looked down at himself, still troubled by the disappearance of his bedraggled suit. Human life was so full of change. But he took comfort in the fact that his choice of clothing was unlikely to bring about a worldwide cataclysm.<p>

There was no work today so Castiel headed for the park like he had so many other days. The weather had turned cooler still, probably too cold for shirtsleeves alone, but the only coat that Castiel possessed was the one that belonged to Jimmy's suit. He sat on his usual bench and watched the clouds drift across the sky. A lone child played on the swings, awkwardly pumping her legs in an uneven rhythm. Nearby the girl's guardian watched with one eye on the newspaper in her hands. Castiel's gaze would have moved on from there but for the familiar faces staring back at him from the front page.

He was on his feet, pulling the paper from the startled woman's hands before he could stop himself. "May I have this?" Castiel asked as an afterthought.

When he finally looked at her, the woman seemed too confused to do anything but nod. Her mouth hung open slightly. For a moment, Castiel worried that she saw him for what he was but the look in her eyes implied she thought he might suffer from a chemical imbalance and nothing more. Castiel was alright with that.

He turned, poring over the newspaper article on the front page, and left the park with more purpose than he'd had in months. Castiel read the story once, twice, and then a third time, dodging people on instinct as he headed back the way he'd come.

The Winchesters. The Winchesters accused of murdering dozens of people across the country. The newspaper said 'mass murderers'. 'Hunted.'

Castiel frowned.

It was impossible. The Winchesters would never do such a thing. Sam. Dean. They had once railed against the smiting of a single town, had offered up their own lives for it. And now they stood accused of doing far worse. There had to be an explanation. And whatever it was, Castiel felt sure he was to blame.

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><p>Author's Note:<em> I have finally found the limits of Microsoft Word's dictionarythesaurus and its name is Castiel. I've had to bust out my dictionary a few times to make sure I spelled words correctly because Word didn't recognize them. Good thing I have a decent vocabulary to begin with. I mean, honestly, how often do you get to use 'rail' in general conversation?_

_Did everyone like Castiel's job? I would have loved to go into greater detail with his experiences there but A) I don't work at Walmart, B) it would have taken up an entire story all by itself and we have other matters to attend to. Also please suspend your disbelief a while longer. I know he doesn't have a social security number and can't legally work. Shhh, pretend like you didn't notice. It's only a story anyway._

_See you next chapter! And remember, reviews make me as happy as burgers make Jimmy and Castiel._


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning:** _Just in case you missed it the first time, there be vague spoilers ahead. Of course if you haven't seen the episode Slash Fiction (and why not?) you will have no clue what happened with the Winchesters and you might not have known there were spoilers at all. It's kind of a Catch 22 there._

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Castiel lost himself in motion. Gathering his meager collection of belongings. He made it as far as the shelter's entrance before he froze. The doors were open to the cool afternoon sun. People passed on the sidewalk beyond but he could barely see them.

It was Bonnie's voice that finally broke through the haze.

"Castiel? Castiel, what's the matter?"

She sounded like she'd been calling him for quite some time but he hadn't heard a thing, mind too busy running in endless circles. He had to go, to find them. But how? As an angel the task would have been simple. When he could have flown to the ends of the earth and back in an instant. But still, he had to go. He couldn't fail in his task again.

"Castiel?" Bonnie put a hand to his shoulder.

He had been standing in the doorway of the shelter for minutes, or hours, or maybe days, the bag of clothing in one hand and the newspaper still clutched in the other. It would only take one step to take him over the threshold. He'd done it so many times already but this time was different. If he took this step, it was a choice. A real one. And Castiel was not sure he could do it. It felt right. But he had been wrong before.

"What's wrong, Castiel? Talk to me."

Finally, Castiel's eyes drifted to Bonnie waiting at his side, compassion in every line of her expression. Her hand still rested lightly on his arm. It was almost comical. She seemed so much like one of the angel figurines on the shelf just then, like the angel he'd stashed in the bag with his clothing. A human who looked like an angel and he a fallen angel in the guise of a human. Surely Dean would have found it amusing.

Dean.

Castiel held up the newspaper, waiting for Bonnie to read the headline. Her eyes moved over the page as a crease formed between her brows. Then she looked up, questioning, at a loss for words for the first time since he'd met her.

"I have to go to them. They didn't do these things," Castiel said. "I know it."

"_Those_ are your friends?" Bonnie asked. Her voice was shrill as a balloon full of helium.

"Something has happened." Castiel's first thought was demonic possession but the Winchesters should have been protected from it. Something else then. There were almost too many options from which to choose. But one thing was certain, Sam and Dean would never commit such heinous crimes without provocation. "I need to find them."

Bonnie jumped in front of him. "Wait, wait, wait. You can't go running after _serial killers_, Castiel. It's dangerous."

"They didn't do these things," Castiel insisted. He studied the picture in the newspaper again looking for some sign of wrongness in them. He found none.

"Maybe they didn't. But you still can't go chasing after them. The police are looking everywhere for your friends. If you get in the way, you'll get arrested, too. Or worse."

Castiel stared at her, unphased.

Bonnie sighed, dropping her hands in defeat. "You're still going to go, aren't you?" She took in the garbage bag at his feet. "At least let me help you get ready."

* * *

><p>At Bonnie's instruction, Castiel purchased a proper bag to carry his clothing in along with a new cell phone—"So you can call me when you find them," she said—and a coat. To that, Castiel added a hunting knife and a large carton of salt. The knife would be less than effective against demons or most other monsters but, for the moment, it was the closest he was likely to come to his own sword.<p>

Bonnie raised an eyebrow at the box of salt. "You really like your salt, don't you?"

"It's for protection."

"Protection from what? People with high blood pressure?"

"Please don't ask. I would rather not lie to you," Castiel said.

"You're starting to scare me. This is wrong. Don't go." Her eyes had grown large and liquid with concern. "I mean, it's great that you're suddenly all gung ho about getting out there but not like this. It's _dangerous_. You could die."

"I should have died a long time ago," Castiel said. At Bonnie's stricken look, he paused. "I will attempt to keep myself from harm."

"That's not terribly reassuring," Bonnie said. She stared at him, something mournful in her expression. "You're probably insane. I should probably be reporting you instead of helping you."

Castiel waited for her to continue.

She looked down at her toes for a long time. The store bustled around them, oblivious. Somewhere a child started crying.

"Do you want a ride to the bus station?"

* * *

><p>Castiel had almost forgotten one thing he had yet to do.<p>

They pulled up in front of the church and Bonnie leaned over to look out the window. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

He shook his head.

Castiel approached the church awkwardly, half expecting long delayed retribution. There was none.

Inside the double doors everything was still. Dimly lit and empty. Castiel drew up to the fount of holy water, moving quietly, but there was no one there to stop him. He filled his small bottle before taking a seat in one of the pews near the front of the church. He didn't want to keep Bonnie waiting long.

Hands folded, Castiel bowed his head and closed his eyes. He hadn't planned anything in particular to say and when the time came he was at a loss for words. So he said the only words that he could think of. "Thank you."

For a moment, his Grace flared, the surge inside of him familiar and comforting. A heat he hadn't felt in months. It gave him the strength he had been lacking.

"Thank you."

He sat another moment in silence before he stood and pushed his way back out into the midday light.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about this?" Bonnie asked again when they reached the bus station.<p>

"I am."

She took a breath in and out, the sound deep and ragged as if she labored under a great weight. "Okay." Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. It seemed for a moment that she meant to strangle it. "Okay. Let's go then."

She was out of the car and around to the passenger side before Castiel had gotten both feet on the pavement. Bonnie took his bag from the backseat.

"Do you have enough money?"

Castiel had no idea if it was enough but he said, "I believe so."

"Do you even know how to buy a bus ticket?"

"Yes." He smiled, faintly. That was one thing he had already learned.

"Call me if you need anything." Bonnie paused before digging in the purse hanging at her hip. She pulled out something wrapped in a plastic bag and held it out to him. "This is for you."

Castiel took the tiny parcel from her hands. It weighed almost nothing.

"Open it."

He unrolled the bag with care and reached inside. It was another angel statue, much like the one he'd bought for himself. Large white wings flared from its back as if ready for flight. He held it up to better study the molded resin face. The angel gazed back at him with benevolent concern. Its eyes were blue, the lips curved up in the tiniest of smiles.

"I saw the other one you had," Bonnie said. "Figured maybe you could use someone else to look out for you while you're gone. Do you like it?"

Castiel ran a finger over the curve of the wings. "I do."

In the next instant, Bonnie wrapped her arms tight around him, startling Castiel so much that he almost dropped the little angel. He would have expected a hug to be awkward. They usually had been in the past. But this time it was pleasant. The warmth of a soul beside him, reminiscent of the Grace still coiled beneath his skin. But the moment ended just as quickly as it had begun when she pulled away and took a step back.

"Don't. Die. Okay? Promise?" Bonnie stared hard into his eyes, not even blinking.

Castiel nodded. He would do his best.

"Now go find your friends."

Castiel took his bag from her hands and placed the angel she had given him inside with great care. He took his seat on the bus, a mix of doubt and anticipation roiling inside him. Free will. He prayed with all his strength that his choices would be better this time.

As the bus pulled away, Bonnie waved. Her t-shirt was perplexing as ever with its assertion: _Hyperbole is the best thing ever._

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>I'm not gonna lie. I almost teared up as much as Bonnie over sending Castiel back into the big bad world. Of course she has a better reason for it than I do. A reason which I may share later on if the opportunity arises. Until then you just get to wonder. Or not. Your choice. In other Bonnie related news, her shirt this time also came from the Mental Floss website. I really need to stop looking at their shirts. I want just about all of them. Damn them and their crafty, witty t-shirts.<em>

_I had a brief moment of insanity earlier and thought this might be a good place to end the story. But no. I won't do that to you guys. More chapters ahead because I am a master procrastinator and I'm supposed to be painting right now instead of writing. I will say no more because I wouldn't want to inadvertently spoil something for you. But there will be Winchesters. In the story. Not my paintings._

_Thanks to all of the readers of this story. And the reviewers. You get extra special love from me. You are the reason that I've been posting these last few chapters so quickly._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It took more buses than Castiel had expected.

When he reached St. Louis, Sam and Dean were gone. He arrived just in time to find out that they had been arrested. In Iowa. So Castiel took another bus, cursing his helplessness in the face of motorized transportation. He didn't understand how humans could stand it. How Sam and Dean could. Though Castiel had to admit, the Impala, with its comfortably worn seats, would have been an improvement. No public bus could hope to compare. When Castiel finally stepped onto the pavement in Iowa, he hoped he would never have to ride in a bus again.

The streets were in a subdued kind of turmoil. It wasn't hard to guess why.

Castiel followed the sidewalk, eyeing every storefront he passed as a new and alien thing. He had never paid much attention to any town he entered before and it had been months since he saw more than the shelter and the park and the cluttered box that was Walmart. And the church. He would have to find a new one. After.

He sought out signs of the Winchester's presence. Everything would have been so much easier if he had full use of his senses. He sighed. The last newspaper he read claimed they'd been arrested in this town.

Castiel stepped in front of the first person he saw. "Where is the police station?"

The young man shook the long fringe of hair from his eyes before looking Castiel up and down. "I don't know," he said with a half formed sneer. Then he shoved past Castiel and continued on his way. "You look like a freakin' lumberjack," the boy grumbled under his breath.

Castiel inspected the red and green plaid shirt he still wore. He had forgotten to change at the last stop he made but he didn't see anything amiss with his clothing otherwise. The material was soft and it reminded him of the clothing that Sam and Dean generally wore. He smoothed a hand down his shirt and prepared to try his inquiries again.

When Castiel turned around a man with grey hair was standing there. "Kids these days, huh? No respect."

The man paused, obviously expecting some sort of response, so Castiel nodded. "Yes."

It seemed to be the correct answer. The man gave a nod of his own and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Police station is two blocks that way. Turn left at the light. Can't miss it."

"Thank you." Castiel was gone almost before the man had finished talking.

He found the police station without much trouble, helped along nicely by the large sign out front. But he pulled up short. A van with large block letters on the side sat just outside the police station, a woman positioned beside it with microphone in hand. In front of her, a man wielding a large camera recorded every word. Castiel could hear her even at the distance.

"The Winchester's crime spree came to a violent end last night when both suspects were shot and killed…"

Castiel dropped to the curb where he stood. The world shattered around him all over again at the reporter's words. It took another moment before Castiel was capable of forming coherent thoughts.

Being cut off from Heaven, Castiel had no way of checking on the state of the Winchester's souls directly. But, he hoped, perhaps he could find a way without Heaven's assistance.

He pulled out his new cell phone, staring intently at the keys before he dialed. Bobby Singer would know if Sam and Dean were truly dead. So Castiel dialed and the phone rang. When there was the click of an answer he felt like exalting. Until a voice on the line said, "The number you have dialed is no longer in service…"

He hung up before the message finished and dialed again, more quickly this time. Again and again, he got the same message in different voices. Every phone number had been changed. Not one gave him anything but an emotionless recording telling him that he was alone.

After the last number was dialed, Castiel stood motionless for a long time. He had come so far. Castiel bent his gaze back to the sky, searching it for answers.

"…_when all logic said that he was dead. But I knew in my heart that he was still alive."_

Dean's words drifted back slowly, a half forgotten memory that they had shared once.

"_Who cares what some Ninja Turtle says, Cas? What do _you _believe?"_

"_I believe he's out there."_

"_Good. Then go find him."_

They had been talking about God then, in a different time, almost in a different world. When the apocalypse loomed large on the horizon and the Winchesters still trusted in Castiel. In a world where he had not lost his mind. But even if they had lost their faith in him, he had not lost his in them. Sam and Dean were still alive. Somewhere. He just had to find them.

Castiel was lost so deeply in thought that he almost missed it. It came like a scent on the breeze. Familiar. Unwelcome. And terrifying.

He pivoted slowly to watch the creature pass not twenty feet in front of him.

Leviathan.

It looked like a man, blond, clean cut and well dressed. But inside it was a monster.

Castiel's first inclination was to attack. Smite first, ask questions later, Dean had called it once. But just as quickly as he started to move, Castiel stopped. He was nearly powerless and the memory of the monsters writhing beneath his vessel's flesh was too fresh to ignore. The sickening feel of it. There had been hundreds of them then, it was true, but he had been greater too. And still they had bested him. He hadn't been strong enough to hold them back. He had ended one war and begun another with his foolishness.

He only wished he knew how to make things right again.

Castiel waited in silence until the monster had passed, body tense with the desire to lash out. His fists clenched but his sword would not come to hand. The urge nearly overwhelmed him.

Then his phone jangled in his pocket. He answered it without looking at the display, eyes still locked on the last place he had seen the Leviathan.

"Oh, thank God!" Bonnie's voice gasped from the phone, strange and unexpected. "You didn't call. It's been days. And I just heard. About your friends…" She trailed off as if she'd run out of incomplete sentences.

Silence stretched between them.

"Hello?" she asked after a moment. "Are you still there? Castiel?"

"I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

"No." His jaw clenched achingly tight. The nearness of the monster was making it hard to focus on anything else. The memory of it hung in the air like acrid smoke.

"I just saw the news about your friends. I'm sorry."

"They're not dead."

"Wait, what?" Bonnie paused. "But the news said… Are you sure?"

"They are mistaken. I would know. If Sam and Dean had died, I would know. I would feel it."

Without warning, Bonnie started to laugh. "You say the craziest things with a straight face, Castiel. I can picture it. Bet you've got the broody forehead going and everything. But somehow, I believe you. Don't know why but I do. Maybe I'm as crazy as you." She chuckled again before getting herself under some semblance of control. "So what are you going to do now?"

He hadn't thought that far yet, nearly overcome with his latest setback, so he was silent for a long moment while he gave it consideration. When it came, the answer seemed obvious. "I will go to Bobby's house."

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<em> First, on a technical note, the conversation that Castiel refers to comes from the episode <em>Free to Be You and Me. _And of course, for more details on the supposed death (again) of the Winchesters please refer back to the episode _Slash Fiction_._

_That's all we have for today, folks. This chapter took a lot longer to sort out than I expected. It all seemed so simple. And then I started writing. The story veers further and further into AU territory with each chapter but honestly I'm curious to see where the trail leads. Oops, did I give too much away? I admit it. I don't quite know where I'm going yet. I guess I'll figure it out when I get there. But in the meantime, I sure am having fun with Castiel and his nearly human status. He's probably having considerably less fun with it...  
><em>

_Thanks again to all the people who review, favorite, or put this on story alert. You're awesome and deserve a Dean sized slice of pie in the flavor of your choosing. Mmm, pie._

_And in conclusion: Hurray for the official announcement of Supernatural getting an 8th season! My excitement knows no bounds._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Somehow Castiel was unsurprised to find the ruin of what had once been Bobby's house. Something told him he should have expected it. And yet, he still felt defeated.

He had come up the road with hopeful anticipation. An end to his journey. Then he turned into the cluttered, junk filled yard of Singer Salvage and found it a greatly changed place. The yard was still covered in a tangle of odds and ends, car parts, old construction equipment, things that Castiel couldn't even put a name or a purpose to. They were all still there. But the most important part, the house that the Winchesters had called home (or at least something close to it) for years… it was gone. In its place, nothing but a charred husk of a building remained. A burnt corpse like the remains of so many of Sam and Dean's salt and burn missions.

So Castiel found a horizontal surface to sit on and he sat. He stared at the house and prayed that his friends were not similarly charred and blackened. He could have stayed there for days working up the energy to move but eventually he stood and dusted himself off.

Then he left the yard and didn't look back.

There was still plenty of money in his pocket. He had been a diligent worker, saving nearly every penny he had earned. But now his days were empty, disordered yet again.

He could have called Bonnie. He almost did, thumb hovering over the call button on his phone. But he didn't. He had relied on her long enough and now she worried for his sanity and his safety in equal measure. It seemed wrong to call on her again. Selfish.

In the depths of Castiel's being, he felt that the Winchesters were alive somewhere. He wished he knew how to find them, where to go, what to do, who to contact. There were other hunters. So many others. But he didn't know how to locate them and they were unlikely to help if he did. Hunters were a suspicious lot. Solitary. Hard edged and ruthless. They would be of no use to him.

The only options left open to him were to return to the shelter and his semblance of a life there or to strike out on his own. Though it shamed him to admit, he was terrified. The situation would have been so different if he were still in full control of his abilities. To circle the globe in search of Sam and Dean would have been nothing for him. Now he had no plan, no destination, only a vague clinging hope to guide him. But the idea of going back, retreating to the shelter and hiding like a wounded animal… That was truly unpalatable.

So he pressed on.

Castiel kept walking until he reached a town of some size, arriving weary and hungry, so like when he first awoke months ago to find himself changed but alive. He stopped at the first building that claimed itself to be a motel and checked in, hardly waiting until the door was closed and locked before he passed out on the bed. Sleep, always a touchy concept, welcomed him with open arms.

He woke hours later with sun streaming into his face and a hollow feeling in his stomach. Yes. This was just how it had been all those months ago.

He rose and surveyed the small but functional room. It was no different than any motel room he had visited with Sam and Dean aside from the lack of a second bed. Nondescript wallpaper and well worn sheets. The thought was comforting just as much as it was distressing. It made their absence seem that much greater to him.

And, Castiel wondered, would they welcome him when he saw them next? He sincerely doubted it.

* * *

><p>Castiel scrambled from the grave, stabbing his knife deep into the soft soil to provide a handhold. Behind him the ghost let out a low keening wail. It sounded pitiful and helpless but he knew otherwise. The ghost had already claimed a number of victims in the area. Castiel had no desire to join their ranks. The ghost of Amanda McCrae closed in on him and Castiel shivered as the temperature dropped another ten degrees. Frosted grass crunched beneath his hands and knees. His bag had seemed within easy reach before the ghost attacked. Now it seemed to take forever to reach the thing and pull it open. He found his box of matches, striking three in one swipe. When he dropped them into the grave he'd vacated, Amanda McCrae's scream went from sorrowful to enraged. Her specter disintegrated in a shower of sparks, popping and crackling like a bonfire, leaving nothing but the slowly roasting pile of bones in the hole at Castiel's feet.<p>

Ghost dispatched, Castiel warmed himself beside the lowering flames a moment. The weather had turned icy. He was damp with sweat and the melting snow from the ground but he was pleased with himself all the same. It was a small victory. He'd laid nearly half a dozen spirits to rest in the last few months. It brought him no closer to finding Sam and Dean but it was infinitely better than doing nothing. This was a hunter's work, something Castiel had had only a vague sort of knowledge about. But it was what Sam and Dean had been raised to do and in a way it was what Castiel had been created for too. Of course, he was never intended to go about it quite this way.

The first time had been hard, earning him a bloody nose and a pain in his chest that might have been a cracked rib. After that he had gotten better, making allowances for his greatly diminished strength and his isolation. There would be no one to save him if he failed.

Castiel had run up against only two other hunters in his travels. With the first, they had approached each other like animals jealously guarding territory, circling and inspecting but never getting too close. Castiel had asked about Sam and Dean.

"Winchesters are dead," the man had said with a shrug. "Don't you watch the news?"

Castiel had studied the man's face for some kind of tell, something to give away the lie. Then he nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," Castiel answered.

They continued on, going their separate ways, without another word spoken between them.

The second hunter was a strange, gawky young man. He stumbled across Castiel in an out of the way diner, striking up a conversation unbidden when he noticed the newspapers scattered across the table.

"Unusual reading material," the young man commented, taking the seat opposite Castiel without asking and helping himself to the newspaper on the top of the pile. A headline near the bottom of the front page read _Building's safety in question after third death._ Castiel had circled the story with neat lines just the night before. He suspected the office building it described was haunted. The latest victim had fallen down an elevator shaft. The two before him had met similarly unusual fates.

"Yes," Castiel said.

The young man flashed an oversized smile before he began paging through the rest of the newspaper. "Then we're here for the same thing." His eyes dropped back to the paper and he chuckled over whatever he found there.

They worked together for two days in a sort of awkward alliance. Castiel let the young man question their witnesses. He had never been good at talking to humans anyway. Between the two of them, they easily tracked the vengeful spirit to a fragment of her remains. A lock of hair anchored her in this world where she didn't belong. As the ghost faded into a mass of flames, Castiel almost felt the urge to smile. The young man was unconscious in a heap on the floor, tossed there by the ghost, but the job was complete. Castiel enjoyed the order of it all. The purpose. Later, nursing a jammed finger and a bruised jaw, Castiel said goodbye to the young man but not before he insisted on adding Castiel to the list of contacts in his phone. He had added himself into Castiel's phone as well, one of the few working contacts besides Bonnie. Castiel would scroll through the list sometimes, pleased to have one more name on the short list of people he knew. Nestled between the entry for Dean and Sam (neither of which gave him more than a recording saying he'd misdialed) sat his new contact Garth.

But it was lonely work being a hunter. Silent. Hours spent poring over newspapers looking for hints of the supernatural to follow like bread crumbs. Somewhere he hoped to find a clue that would take him to the Winchesters.

Castiel finished covering the still smoldering grave of Amanda McCrae and followed the country road back to the motel he'd been living out of for the past week. It was time to move on. He hadn't found anything new, not yet, but he would and he had learned early on that it was wise to leave town before people started to notice his blood speckled clothes and the hunting knife hidden beneath his coat.

He let himself back into his room, checking the line of salt at the door and the windows to make sure it was secure. Then he checked his little angels. They were still where he'd left them beside the bed. A shower and fresh clothes later, he went out again. His stomach was clamoring for food. Strange that hunting should make him so hungry.

A family restaurant sat a few minute's walk from the motel. When he entered, the sole waitress greeted him with a bob of her head and motioned for him to pick a table. Castiel chose a booth near the back that faced the door. He preferred it to the other spots he'd tried over the week. The emergency exit was within easy range.

The waitress sauntered over a minute later, pad already in hand. "The usual?" she asked. The woman's hair was mostly grey shot through with dark streaks and her face was kind and smiling. She reminded him of Bonnie though the two looked nothing alike.

"Yes. Please" Castiel nodded and folded his hands on the scratched table in front of him. He settled in to wait for his meal.

"You want coffee while you wait, hon?"

Castiel grimaced. "No. Thank you. Just water." He had tried coffee in the past and found it less than enjoyable. But every time the waitress offered it to him anyway.

She bustled away to put in his order, leaving Castiel to monitor the mostly empty restaurant in peace. His eyes touched on the couple in the booth near the door. They were young, leaning together and tittering like little birds. A burly man in a cowboy hat sat alone at a table in the middle. He was hunched over a platter of something white and pasty looking, eating with a look of determination.

Before Castiel could finish his inspection the waitress returned and set his food in front of him.

"Ketchup?" she asked, already holding the bottle out to him.

He took it and flipped open the plastic cap without hesitation. Ketchup was one thing he rather enjoyed. He squeezed a large dollop onto the plate beside his burger and fries and set the bottle aside.

"Don't you get tired of eating burgers every day?" the waitress asked with a little chuckle.

"I have soup, too," he said gesturing towards the little cup she'd brought along with his meal.

The waitress fanned her hand in the air and laughed again. Then she patted him on the shoulder. "You call me if you need anything else, hon."

Castiel nodded, pulling his cup of soup to the front and giving it a stir. Today was split pea. The sludgy consistency was off putting but, now that he'd tried it, he had decided that he was indeed a 'fan.' He wondered if he should tell Bonnie next time he spoke with her.

He had just finished his soup and set it aside when he started to feel uneasy. He glanced up as the door opened. The trio of young men that came in took a spot in the middle of the restaurant without being greeted. One of them glanced Castiel's way but he sensed no malice in the gaze. Even so, Castiel hurried through his burger and fries. Suddenly the comfortably empty restaurant felt much too crowded.

He paid his bill and pushed his way out into the chilly night air, happy to escape his unexpected claustrophobia. He ducked his head into the wind when it tried to steal his breath away. The uneasiness wouldn't leave him. His hand was already in his pocket, fingers wrapped around his cell phone, before he'd consciously thought to make a call. A moment later he was distracted by the slam of a car door in the parking lot off the side of the restaurant. Footsteps and voices drifted towards him on the wind.

"That's twice now. Someone dug up that grave before we got there. Son of a bitch is stealing our hunts."

Castiel froze at the sound of the approaching voice.

"It's not like you called dibs, Dean," came Sam's reply. "Let it go."

"Well it's still pissing me off," Dean said. The familiar grumble made Castiel's heart leap into his throat. He wasn't prepared. Not yet.

Castiel was about to make good his escape when the door to the restaurant opened behind him.

"Hey, you forgot something," said the man at the door. Castiel turned to see the trio that had arrived while he was eating. The one in the lead was tall and thin, hair covered by a grey knit cap. Castiel had just enough time to register the man's shark like smile and black eyes before a fist connected with his jaw.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>Well look at that. You all got a super extra long chapter this time around. I thought of breaking it into two shorter chapters but I know everyone was waiting for Sam and Dean to make their appearance. And now they have. Well, their voices have appeared. The rest of them will be along shortly. I wish that Castiel could have spent a bit more time wandering the world on his own but it probably would have gotten too angsty even for me. (: So he'll have to angst with company. Besides, if there's one thing (besides hunting) the Winchesters are good at, it's angsting.<em>

_In other related news, I've been considering writing some "outtakes" for this story. Mostly it would be "Castiel figuring out things that I didn't have time to write into the actual story because it would take too long." Like laundry. The idea of him doing laundry is hilarious to me for some reason. Show of hands. Anyone interested in reading my goofy little outtakes?  
><em>

_And in conclusion, I say this every time, but sorry for the frequent delays. I foolishly made a bet with a friend that I could finish writing my novel by the end of the month. Then I realized that meant 60,000 words. Yeah, that's not happening but I'll give it a shot. In the meantime, I'll try not to leave you guys hanging too long._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The first punch knocked Castiel staggering but it only took a moment to right himself. This was familiar territory, even if he was outnumbered three to one. While the other two demons were trying to push through the door at the same time, Castiel focused on the one who had spoken. Even with his decreased strength, three quick punches were enough to stun the leader. But by then the other two had made it into the night air.

"What's the matter, angel boy? Lost your wings?" one sneered as he swung a meaty fist at Castiel's face.

Castiel leapt back. He retreated towards the far end of the building, hoping to get out of sight before any curious restaurant patrons, or the Winchesters themselves, could notice the fight. The demons took his move as a sign of fear, smirking and laughing all the more as they tried to surround him. Castiel was not inclined to correct them.

"Crowley's been looking for you," the leader said. "Might even give me a bonus if I bring you back in pieces."

"That seems unlikely." Crowley never gave more than he was obligated to provide but apparently these demons had not yet learned that. Castiel wished that _he_ were not so familiar with the demon's rationale either.

The demon on the right, a stocky young man with hair growing down to his shoulders, lunged next. He barely made it a step before Castiel showered him with holy water from the little bottle he kept in his pocket. Then the demon was on the ground, hands to his face in surprise.

The leader was already closing in again so Castiel took a deep breath and started his recitation. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii…_"

It took a moment before the demons understood what he was doing—he was lucky they didn't seem terribly bright—but when they did they descended on him together. He ducked and dodged their punches, swiping with his knife to keep them at arm's length. All the while, Castiel kept reciting. The demons twitched with every word of Latin but it only served to enrage them further. He took a kick to the stomach that sent him to the ground and left him gasping for enough to air to finish the exorcism. A second boot caught him in the chest. He rolled over with a groan, trying to get out from under the onslaught of kicks. One of the demons stomped his hand and pain shot through his fingers straight up to the wrist. Castiel gritted his teeth and continued with the exorcism. Gravel bit into his palms as he tried to pull away.

"I'm gonna rip your tongue out," bellowed the leader. "Get him up."

They dragged him upright until Castil hung between the two demons like a shirt on a clothesline. Blood coated his mouth. There wouldn't be enough time to finish the exorcism before they killed him. Or worse. He just needed a little more time.

"Not so tough without the Winchesters, are ya?" the leader asked. He pulled the knife from Castiel's weakened grip, examining the blade as if he expected it to catch fire. Then he smiled. The effect was ruined somewhat by the pained twitch that came immediately after. He grunted and his body jumped like a marionette before it settled again. Then he wrapped a fist in Castiel's hair and tugged his head back. The knife flashed in his other hand.

"_Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo…_" Castiel found his eyes drawn to the silver edge of the blade. His own weapon was about to betray him. How fitting.

But the knife didn't move.

"Hey!" The demons stiffened at the sound of the new voice. Castiel couldn't see the source but he didn't need to. Dean. Twin pairs of footsteps came around the side of the restaurant, gaining speed after a moment's hesitation. The trio of demons turned to intercept them. Castiel dropped into the gravel gratefully as soon as they released him. But he wasn't finished.

The demons seemed torn between fighting Sam and Dean and abandoning their meatsuits in search of safety. Castiel took the decision from them.

"_Benedictus deus. Gloria patri,_" Castiel finished in a rush of Latin.

The three demons screamed in unison as they were ejected from their bodies. A mass of black smoke gathered in the air above them, swirling and writhing before it disappeared on its way back to Hell. Now empty, their meat suits crumpled to the ground like abandoned sacks of grain. Then Castiel put his head back and closed his eyes. It wasn't as peaceful as he might have liked.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean asked.

"Dean." There was a note of surprise in Sam's voice. Castiel wondered if they had noticed him.

"Cas? Cas?"

Castiel sat up, leaning on his wounded hand with a wince. Breathed in and out. Finally he raised his eyes to Sam and Dean's, dreading what he might find there.

It wasn't quite what he had expected.

Sam and Dean stood a few feet away as if rooted in place. Their faces bore twin expressions of amazement. And caution.

"Hello, Dean. Sam." Castiel made his way back to standing, wobbling on his feet. He retrieved his knife from where it had fallen, buffing the touch of the demon off of its grip before he slid it back into its sheath. And still there was silence. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He turned back to the Winchesters and waited.

As Castiel had expected, it was Dean who spoke first.

"What the fuck, man?" Dean surged forward, hands up, and Castiel took a shaky step back. His heel snagged a sprawling arm and he tipped as if in slow motion, watching the sky shift overhead. But before he hit the ground Sam and Dean were beside him, gripping him tight by the arms. So different from the demons. Their touch had made his skin crawl. "What the hell happened to you, Cas?" Dean's fingers dug into Castiel's forearm as if he expected him to evaporate.

"Dean, look at him."

Castiel wondered what Sam meant by that. Again he looked down at himself. His coat was smudged with gravel dust and sported a few dark spots that were probably his own blood. He would have to clean it again. What did his face look like? Had his hair grown too long again? He wished he knew.

"Where have you been?" Sam asked. His voice was considerably gentler than Dean's but it held a strange quaver that hadn't been there before. It seemed to be asking if Castiel were real.

"I woke up in a river. I was looking for you. Both of you." Castiel looked between their faces again, waiting for judgment to descend. Or more demons. They knew where he was now. Undoubtedly Crowley would send more to find him. Soon. He took stock of his injuries from the fight. The ache in his side was becoming more pronounced every time he drew breath. His muscles screamed for rest. And his head throbbed. All together, he felt very unwell. "I'm glad that you're alive. I was concerned that you might have burned with Bobby's house."

"You went to Bobby's? When?" Sam asked.

"Months ago. I tried calling but your phone numbers have changed." Castiel felt a smile inch onto his lips. "Everyone said you were dead. You were very hard to find."

"What happened? Why were you exorcising those demons? Why didn't you just burn them out?"

Castiel chuckled. "I believe my 'mojo', as you put it, is gone," he said, making a weak attempt at air quotes. It set off another shock of pain in his hand. He glanced at his fingers. They were scraped bloody around the knuckles. One of them was also turning a suspicious shade of purple. It was going to be very uncomfortable to fix that. "Thank you. For assisting me with the demons."

Silence descended again. Castiel examined the brothers each in turn. Both of them looked older, wearier, than he remembered. Sam's forehead bore a little wrinkle of concentration that never disappeared. And Dean's eyes sagged at the corners in a way that Castiel remembered all too well from when they'd initially met. It was a haunted look but increased tenfold. After his first exclamations, he hadn't said another word.

Castiel bowed his head.

He had dreamed of seeing the two of them again. For months he had imagined it. Usually it went violently. Dean would throw punches and yell. Sam would stare at him with the reproach he deserved. And they would shun him. But never had he imagined he would find his friends so very broken when next they met. Castiel had no idea what to say when faced with them this way.

Castiel stared at the dusty white gravel beneath his feet for a long time. The former demons were starting to stir around them. They would have questions and Castiel did not feel like answering them.

Sam and Dean seemed to be waiting for something from him.

"Would you like to see my room?" Castiel asked because he couldn't think of another thing to say.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>I thank SuperWiki most heartily for having the text for the exorcism used in the show. Or actually all of the ones they've used in the show. I never realized there was more than one. I'm smart! Anyway, this chapter was about as awkward to write as I expected it to be. I can safely say I have never run into an angel who I thought died by melting into evil black goo so it was a little hard to figure just how the boys would react. How did I do? Well enough, I hope. Granted they did cover this territory somewhat in <em>The Born-Again Identity_ but the circumstances were wildly different. And thus the troubles remain._

_Hope this chapter met your expectations. I anticipate the story going on for a while… especially considering season 7 is now over. I have to compensate somehow. And as promised, when I have more time I'll get some of the outtakes up for your perusal. Until then, keep your eyes peeled. I'll be over here soothing myself with copious amounts of pie for reasons which I cannot specify in case you all haven't seen the season 7 finale. I shall not spoil it for you. And of course, I love reviews as much as Castiel loves Twister. Apparently. He _is_ bendy._

_PS: I raised the rating to T since Dean is here now and he has a mouth like a trucker. Just in case anyone was wondering. I figure he earns the T rating all by himself.  
><em>


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Come on. We'll take you back to your motel," Sam said.

Beside him, Dean remained silent, looking anywhere but at the fallen angel. That hurt more than all the scrapes and bruises and cracked bones combined. Castiel wondered why Dean let Sam make the offer at all when it was clear he would rather be anywhere else.

Castiel followed them back to their car, limping slightly as his body realized how much damage it had taken. He licked his lips and tasted fresh blood.

The car he was confronted with was considerably smaller than he'd been expecting. And it was orange. "This isn't your car," Castiel said. He glanced around but saw no sign of the sleek black Impala. Dean tensed.

"The car is… in storage," Sam said. "We have to keep a low profile."

Castiel didn't know what profiles had to do with anything but he didn't question it further. He looked at the little two door car with misgivings. It didn't seem large enough to fit them all. Sam opened the passenger side door with a squeal of metal and reached in to fold his seat forward so Castiel could get in.

"Need help?" Sam asked when Castiel just stared.

He shook his head. He didn't like the looks of this car. It was also decidedly less comfortable than the last bus he'd ridden. Castiel instantly missed the Impala. But he tucked his knees as close together as they would go and made himself small while the Winchesters climbed into the front seats. Dean started the car and turned it towards the parking lot exit.

"Where are you staying?" Sam tilted his head towards the backseat but didn't turn around.

Castiel told him and they drove in silence, Dean a tense and silent shape in the darkness.

The ride was blessedly short. Castiel spent the majority of it staring out the window and wondering what he could say or do so the Winchesters would finally meet his eyes again. There seemed to be nothing.

The tires crunched over the black top of the motel parking lot as they slid to a stop. Dean was out his door in seconds. Castiel was held prisoner in the backseat until Sam unfolded himself onto the pavement. They made a strange procession to the motel room, Castiel in the lead as he tried to pry the room key from his pocket with shaking fingers. Sam and Dean followed close behind, silent guardians.

Castiel unlocked the door and threw it wide. "Please come in."

He turned on the lamp and looked around. Everything was as he'd left it an hour before but he checked it anyway. Lines of salt, trio of angels beside the bed, bag of folded clothes on the dresser. He set the key on the nightstand beside his angels, waiting anxiously for the sound of footsteps behind him. It wasn't until he heard the door shut that he turned around. His room seemed so much smaller with the Winchesters inside of it.

He tugged at the buttons of his wool coat with his good hand but they slipped through his fingers time and time again. The effort sent a shiver of pain through his ribs. He was quickly losing patience with this body.

"Jesus," Dean snapped before batting Castiel's hand away. He yanked the buttons free of the buttonholes in quick succession. Then he headed for the door. "I'm gonna get some ice." He pointed a finger at Castiel. "Get him cleaned up," he said before slamming the door behind him.

Castiel and Sam stared at the door.

The silence in the room was more than deafening but Castiel didn't have the courage to break it. He seemed to have expended his supply already. So he busied himself with shrugging out of his coat. It slid down his arms with an effort, snagging on his shirtsleeves repeatedly. His ribs protested every movement. He draped his coat over the bed.

His eyes fell on his angels and his anxiety eased ever so slightly. They were three now, a family in miniature. He ran a gentle hand over their heads. His first with animals gathered at her feet. The second from Bonnie. And then the newest. It was of a stockier build than the others. Less delicate, with stubby wings protruding from its back. It was a clumsy little thing but he liked it all the same. Still, the first always sat proudly at the front. Pride. What a funny emotion it was.

"It was a terrible thing," Castiel said before he realized he meant to speak. "What I did to you, Sam. I can't begin to apologize. But I… regret it. I would fix it if I could. All of it."

Castiel sighed.

He hadn't expected forgiveness. Not really. But perhaps he had started to hope.

He raised his eyes to Sam's but the expression there was impossible to read. Something fluttered behind his eyes and disappeared.

"We should get you bandaged up," Sam said with false cheer.

Castiel found Sam to be an adequate doctor. He was kind and thorough. But once Sam had finished inspecting and diagnosing Castiel's myriad injuries they were left to stare at the walls again. Dean still hadn't returned with ice but their 'borrowed' car was still in the parking lot. He couldn't have gone far. He wouldn't leave Sam behind.

Castiel inspected his wrapped fingers for the fifth time. Sam had pinned Castiel's third and fourth fingers together in a makeshift splint made out of popsicle stick. Castiel had no idea where the stick had come from. One finger was still a distressing shade of purple, sore and puffy like a rotten sausage. Castiel didn't care much for sausage, especially when it was taking the place of a functional finger.

"How's it feel?" Sam asked, looking from Castiel to his hand and back again.

"Painful." There were plenty of other words he could have used. Throbbing. Sore. Excruciating. Awkward. But he didn't want to complain.

Castiel heaved himself up off the bed and shuffled towards the bathroom with his body protesting every movement. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, the sight that greeted him was worse than he'd expected. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth already drying to a brownish crust. One cheek had turned a vibrant shade of bruised. A crosshatching of scrapes covered the other. No doubt his body would be a similar patchwork of black and blue. And he had been correct. His hair had grown too long again. It stood up in clumps from the fight. He ran his good hand through it, trying to smooth the unruly hairs back into something more presentable. With his hair off his forehead, he uncovered another set of scrapes running along his temple. Castiel yanked the hand towel from the rod. He ran cold water over it and set to work cleaning his face with careful dabs and pats.

Before he'd quite finished, a gentle knock came at the door. "You okay in there?" Sam asked.

"Yes." Castiel scrubbed the last of the blood from his face and left the towel on the side of the sink.

Sam still hovered just outside the door. "You should get some rest."

Castiel nodded. He was finding it hard to ignore the complaints of his body any longer. His stubborn body.

He dropped onto the bed and toed off his shoes, still caked in grave dirt. That seemed like so long ago already. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. "You're welcome to stay of course. But I'll understand if you're gone when I wake up. It was good to see you again." Castiel gave him a long look over just in case. He tried to memorize every detail but he knew it was a wasted effort. He'd begin forgetting again by tomorrow. "I need to sleep." He laid himself out carefully, trying not to jostle his ribs any more than necessary, and closed his eyes. He wanted to lie still and listen, to wait and see if Sam would leave him, but he fell into sleep anyway like a trap laid out especially for him.

His sleep was fitful, a fever dream of his wrong doings wrapped in fear for the future and tied with a bow. The slam of the door broke him from sleep. He sat up, instantly awake, and found his body a riot of aches intensified by hours of inactivity. The curtains were drawn against the morning sun but he didn't miss the silhouette beside the door. Dean sat in a chair there, arms folded over his chest, watching him like a guard on duty. Maybe he was.

Castiel blinked at him. "You're still here," he noted. "Where's Sam?"

"Getting breakfast. You look like hell."

Castiel nodded. He didn't doubt it.

Silence descended like a heavy metal curtain. Absolute. Unbreakable. Castiel looked at Dean. Dean looked back.

Finally Castiel tore his gaze away. Tugging back the covers with his three good fingers, he climbed from the bed. He hoped that some time spent in the shower would be enough to ease his discomfort. Blood and grime still hung on him like a film.

"So where were you?"

Dean's question stopped Castiel in midstride. He cocked his head. He wasn't quite sure what answer Dean expected. What was it that he wanted?

"All this time. We thought you were dead. You walked into that reservoir and…" Dean made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Game over."

"The Leviathan… they overwhelmed my vessel," Castiel said haltingly. It was difficult to explain when he didn't fully understand it himself. "I'm not sure what happened. How long it took to rebuild myself. I woke and everyone, everything, was gone. My powers. I haven't heard the call of Heaven since. I suppose that makes me practically human." He licked his lips, mouth gone dry. "I intended to keep my distance. From you. And Sam. I nearly destroyed everything. I've done enough damage."

"Then why didn't you?" Dean's face was hard. His stare pinned Castiel in place.

Castiel slumped, ignoring the ache in his side and the throbbing in his head. The pain in his heart was greater. "I suppose I'm still selfish after all. I can't fix what I've broken. Not like this. But I hoped… I wanted to make amends. I realize it's probably impossible."

He stood waiting for the rejection that was sure to come. When it didn't, Castiel looked up. Dean stared at the wall as if he could burn a hole through it with willpower alone. The door opened beside him and Sam came in carrying a bag of food. The smell of it enticed and repulsed Castiel at the same time. His stomach had knotted itself so tightly he didn't think he would eat for days.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Better. Thank you."

Castiel disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door carefully behind him. It would have been easier if Sam shunned him openly. Yet he didn't. He looked at Castiel with consideration though it must have pained him to do so. Castiel had brought such harm to Sam. With his own hands he had broken him. Castiel felt much more comfortable with Dean's stubborn belligerence. He'd had months to prepare for that.

He took his time showering, trying to forcefully scrub away the memories and the distress he was feeling. This was what he'd set out for. Forgiveness or rejection. It was what he had wanted. With the hours spent in the confessional, praying to God. In the park, while the children played. He supposed this was what humans meant when they said 'be careful what you wish for.'

Castiel shut off the water, annoyed with the cowardice he was showing. He had faced down hordes of demons in Hell yet these two humans, Sam and Dean, they terrified him. His brothers and sisters would laugh if they knew of it. But he wouldn't run from judgment. It was useless to try anyway.

The Winchesters looked up in unison when Castiel left the bathroom. They were sitting at his little table eating their fast food breakfast. Dean held out a bundle wrapped in paper.

"Here," he said.

Castiel stared at the wrapped mystery food as if Dean had just offered him his own heart.

"You got a problem with biscuits or something?" Dean waved the food at him. "Take it."

"What?" Castiel blinked hard. He felt like he had missed an important part of the conversation.

Dean grumbled and tossed the breakfast sandwich at Castiel. "Eat. Then pack your toys. We're leaving."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>And so ends another long(ish) chapter. Another difficult chapter to write as well. I never figured that Sam and Dean would dump Castiel and I hope you all agree. I mean, seriously. The poor guy just took a severe beating and, like Dean said, they were family once. You can hardly call yourself a Winchester until you've brought down an apocalypse on the world. (: Of course, Castiel still has some work to do before he's off probation. And thusly more chapters will come.<em>

_Now onto the most pressing matter at hand. Season 7 finale. Have you all seen it yet? I believe a resounding WHAT? is in order, don't you? And now we sit and wait until October. And twiddle our thumbs. Or in my case, split time between thumb twiddling and writing fanfiction about Castiel instead of doing my real work._

_And once again, we conclude by saying: reviews make me write ten times faster and make me smile like an idiot. All day long. Hope you've enjoyed the chapter._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Castiel was squeezed into the backseat of the orange car watching the scenery change while Sam and Dean argued about radio stations.

"Seriously, no," Sam said.

"What? It wasn't that bad."

"Dude. Dokken? _Dokken?_"

Dean sighed, shifting restlessly behind the wheel. "Everything else is country out here," he complained.

"So leave the radio off."

"It's too quiet now." Dean grumbled under his breath for the next mile or two but he didn't reach for the radio dial again. "I miss my music. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied automatically without looking up from the newspaper in his hands.

More miles passed beneath the car's tires and Castiel's head starting to bob towards his chest. They had been on the road for hours already. No one had told Castiel where they were going and he hadn't thought to ask. For the moment, he was content to be in the presence of the Winchesters. After so many months spent alone and wandering, it was pleasant to pretend that he had reached his goal. He would worry about the rest later.

Perhaps he should have known that the peace wouldn't last.

* * *

><p>"You hungry? Hey, Castiel!" Sam called into the backseat, unceremoniously rousing Castiel from his slumber.<p>

Castiel's head snapped up so fast the world spun. He'd been dreaming about something but now the pieces scattered like an overturned jigsaw puzzle. "What?" He stared at Sam's lips as if that would help him decipher the words he'd spoken.

Sam hitched a thumb out the car window. They'd pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop. Semis and minivans shared the gravel parking area with a handful of gas pumps and a large sign stating that the establishment also featured showers. Castiel frowned at the sign.

"Cas?" Sam asked again. He slid out of the front seat and folded it forward so Castiel could exit the tiny car.

Castiel nodded. He was hungry. He hadn't had a proper meal since just before the demon attack. The paper wrapped biscuit sandwich didn't count. It had been like sawdust on his tongue. He'd been too nervous to eat more than a few bites at the time.

Castiel slid across the backseat and ignored the hand that Sam held out to assist him. He might be mostly human, but Castiel found he still had his pride.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said after Castiel had finished clambering out of the car.

There was more grumbling from inside the car before the door creaked open and Dean appeared beside it.

The three of them trudged into the restaurant, Sam in the lead this time and Dean bringing up the rear. It made Castiel feel boxed in which was perhaps the intention. It was difficult to know for sure.

They were shown to a booth along the windows on one side and there was an awkward dance as they chose their seats. In the end, Castiel ended up on one side of the booth by himself. Sam and Dean crammed themselves into the opposite side together, shoulders touching and arms bumping as they tried to open their menus at the same time. Castiel stared at his, none of the words registering for a long time. His splinted fingers hung awkwardly off the side. He glared at them, annoyed with the way they drew attention to his weakened condition. He hadn't missed the way Sam snuck glances at him when he thought Castiel wasn't looking. Watchful and concerned… There was more behind it and Castiel had started to suspect that he knew the cause. Even now, Sam's gaze seemed to drift away, a vague haze dropping into place, washing his expression clean.

Castiel looked down at his menu. Shame. He had almost forgotten the sour taste of it.

Their waiter appeared, introducing himself as Brent and producing a pad and pen with the kind of ease that came from years of practice. Sam gave a little start and his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, uh, can I get the Harvest Salad?" Sam said, when no one else spoke up. "And coffee."

Brent nodded, scribbling away. His eyes shifted back and forth between Dean and Castiel before finally settling on Castiel. "And you?"

Castiel slid the menu across the table as if he were placing his bet at a poker table. He calculated the amount of money left in his pocket. More than enough. "A bowl of soup."

"Anything to drink? Coffee?"

"No," Castiel said a fraction too quickly. "No, thank you. Just water." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean. He'd finally dropped his menu and was studying Castiel instead.

"Sir?" Brent said helplessly, eyes dancing between Castiel and Dean again as if he was sizing up the likelihood of danger and how quickly he could flee from it.

Dean's attention flicked up to Brent and then just as quickly away. It resettled on Castiel. "Just coffee."

Sam shot Dean a sideways look but didn't utter a word. Castiel focused on trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his fingers and the insistent stare coming from across the table.

"So," Sam said without warning, "I found a job. Not too far from here." He produced one of the newspapers he'd been reading in the car for the past few hours and laid it out on the table. All eyes turned to the article Sam pointed out.

"The guy drowned," Dean said drily after he scanned the article.

"On dry land," Sam added. "And he's not the first." Sam pulled out his laptop and set it on top of the newspaper.

Castiel stared at the back of Sam's open laptop, trying to listen to the details that Sam was laying out like bathroom floor tiles, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. So quietly that he'd missed it at first, a thin humming had started, gradually building up to a steady whine. Castiel didn't understand why no one else seemed to hear it. He put a hand to his temple, eyes squeezing into slits. Pain gathered between his ears. Vaguely he realized that Sam and Dean had stopped talking.

"Cas?" Dean's eyes were wide and wary.

"Church bells," Castiel groaned, hands clamped over his ears as the sound receded.

"What?" Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"It sounds like church bells. In my head."

"Uh, yeah. Okay," Dean said.

Castiel didn't miss the raised eyebrows and eye gesturing of the Winchesters. He'd been around them long enough to know they were talking about him. It was hard to tell what conclusion they'd come to though.

"I'm fine," Castiel said firmly. He took a large gulp of the water that Brent had placed in front of him. He hadn't even realized how dry his mouth had become. "They're gone now."

"How long has that been going on?" Sam asked. He gestured in the direction of Castiel's head.

"The bells? This is the first time," Castiel said. He'd heard the deep ringing echo of bells before but never from inside his skull. He'd heard them at church services, at weddings when he'd lingered on the street outside. They'd chimed in the distance when he was digging up graves in the cemetery. He'd always enjoyed the sound. These had been different. Sharper. And obviously it wasn't normal to hear bells without a source.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's nose. "Hey." He waited until Castiel looked at him. "Anything else we should know about? You seeing any little green men? Pink elephants?"

"No. I haven't seen any diminutive extraterrestrials. Or strangely colored animals," he added after a moment. "I'm fine."

"Next time you start hearing things that aren't there, say something."

"I will."

The matter settled, Sam and Dean went back to discussing the string of drowned men in a town about three hours drive away. Castiel ate his soup and listened to the ebb and flow of their voices while they pointed at clues.

He massaged away the ache in his temples. He had heard something. He was sure of it.

* * *

><p>"We shouldn't be gone long. Don't open the door for anyone," Dean said in the manner of a parent warning a child to stay off the couch. "Stay here. Watch TV or something." He backed up a step and then stopped again. "No porn."<p>

"I could assist you," Castiel said.

"You're still injured." Dean stared emphatically at Castiel's splinted left hand. Castiel was glad he hadn't mentioned his cracked rib to Sam when he'd checked him over initially. No doubt, Dean would have used that against him as well. "Get some rest."

Castiel scowled. He glanced at Sam but he was of no assistance either. He'd grown quieter and quieter during their last few hours in the car. The crease in his forehead had deepened into a near permanent frown. Castiel looked him over, wished he could see into Sam's mind and unravel the mystery there. Now that the wall had come down, what remained? And how could Castiel hope to fix it?

Sam shook off Castiel's stare and turned away. "Call if you need anything," Sam said, beating Dean to the motel room door and pulling it open.

Late afternoon sun streamed into the room. Castiel squinted against the sudden glare. Dean had insisted on keeping the curtains drawn, as if Castiel was a secret that needed guarding, and perhaps the idea was not so ridiculous. Crowley must have learned that his former partner was alive by now. It would be foolish to hope he didn't want vengeance. The possibility was sobering but still Castiel clumsily folded his arms over his chest and stood his ground.

"I'm not a child," he insisted.

"Then prove it!" Dean snapped, rounding on Castiel suddenly. Heat flared in his expression as he fought down whatever else he wanted to say. Their eyes locked.

Castiel looked away first.

The next instant the door closed. The Winchesters were gone.

Castiel slumped onto one of the beds and looked around the empty room. The wallpaper this time was an abstract pattern of greenish streaks and yellow blobs. It reminded Castiel of bile.

He had tried watching TV before when he'd been traveling alone. Every motel room in every town boasted a boxy television set with an array of channels to distract him. So far he'd only found it useful as a provider of white noise, something to drown out the silence. He left it tuned to Wheel of Fortune, barely glancing at the half solved puzzle with its caption of _Before and After_, before he answered, "Jumbo shrimp cocktail waitress," with a sigh. It would be some time before the contestants on the show echoed his response, jumping and screeching in excitement at the prizes they might possibly win.

While he waited, Castiel pulled his bag to him, rifling through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He'd wrapped each of the angels in one of his shirts to protect them. Unfortunately he hadn't taken up the habit soon enough. The wing of the angel Bonnie had given him had a tiny chip in it. He'd searched and searched for the missing piece after it happened but to no avail. The sliver of the angel had disappeared. He checked them over again to make sure they'd survived their latest journey intact. Then he set them out on the nightstand between the beds. Today Thuriel (it had seemed appropriate to name the animal loving figurine after his brother) stared at him with intent. Castiel stared back, studying the tiny painted gaze for some sign of understanding.

"This is more difficult than I'd expected," Castiel told the statue. In the background, the woman on Wheel of Fortune finally solved the puzzle.

* * *

><p>Castiel woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep, Thuriel cradled in one arm. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 9:18pm. Still no sign of the Winchesters.<p>

He lurched off the bed, head throbbing, and headed for the bathroom. He wasn't certain but he had the distinct feeling he might vomit. And all the while something rattled around his skull like a marble in a jar. The sound rang and reverberated growing more intense until he felt it all the way down to his toes.

Bells.

Bells again.

He was supposed to do something when he heard bells.

Castiel swung around, looking for the source. There was nothing.

He'd been headed for the bathroom but when he yanked on the door it led outside. He'd gone the wrong way. He stumbled forward anyway, following the sound of the bells.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>Time just seems to get away from me lately. I had this chapter started a week ago. So why did it take so long to finish and edit? I have no idea. Anyway, there were some references here that you may or may not have gotten so let me explain them straight away.<em>

_Dokken is a hair band. They did a song for Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors. The song was actually called Dream Warriors._

_Thuriel was mentioned a few chapters ago but in case you've forgotten, Thuriel is the angel associated with wild animals._

_I hope everyone knows how Wheel of Fortune works because I don't know that I can explain it. The Before and After puzzles are always my favorite when I bother to watch and _jumbo shrimp cocktail waitress_ was the answer to a real puzzle many, many years ago. I'm not kidding. If you're thinking "How would Castiel even know that?" the answer is: because I said so. (:_

_Now that that's taken care of, we return to our regularly scheduled notes. Hope everyone is enjoying where this story has wandered off to. It began as a little snippet of sad Castiel sitting on a park bench and looking for Impalas and now it's turned into his Epic Quest for Redemption. But I'm okay with that. I'll be doing Camp NaNoWriMo come June (in less than 24 hours) but I'll try not to let it distract me from Castiel and his plight. Or maybe I should be more worried that Castiel will distract me from NaNo. It could happen. I'll never become a published author like this. XD_

_I swear I won't beg for reviews this time. I'll just sit over here and eat a slice of pie while you think about it. Don't mind me. Thanks again for reading!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Castiel woke to more ringing and the slippery feel of grass beneath his fingers. He sat up. The motel room was gone, replaced by a midnight sky and the lawn in front of a small church. And ringing.

He patted a hand over his pockets until he found the source of the noise. His cell phone.

"Hello?" Castiel said, choking and sputtering as he answered the phone. He swiped the back of a hand over his mouth. It came away dark with blood.

"Where the fuck are you?" Dean growled.

Castiel was too confused to take offense at his tone. He looked up at the church again, searching for a sign. "A church. St. Teresa of Avila." His gaze swept the area. It was dark with only a few scattered streetlamps and a dim light hanging over the church's tiny parking area. The rest of the street was taken up with neat crackerbox houses and empty grass lots.

There was muffled talking on the phone as Dean relayed the information to Sam.

"Stay there." Dean hung up without another word.

Castiel tucked his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. His back felt damp from the ground. He didn't have his coat and he had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. Something tickled his neck. When he checked, he found blood lining the shell of his ears and trickling down his neck. He was covered in blood. Perhaps that explained the lightheadedness.

He remembered the sound of bells, tugging him forward like a puppet on a string. He glanced up at the church. There was no bell tower there but he was certain he'd heard them. The ringing, so loud he couldn't think of anything else. It was familiar and comforting and terrifying at the same time. But there was barely time to consider it before a car pulled up in front of the church.

It wasn't orange anymore. Sam and Dean had swapped the compact monstrosity for a long boxy brown car. The car had barely screeched to a stop before Dean was out the door and charging at Castiel.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean roared.

"Dean!" Behind him, Sam scrambled from the car, too late to catch up.

The punch came out of nowhere, snapping Castiel's head back and taking the rest of him with it. He toppled like a tower of blocks, skidding across the grass. Sam grabbed Dean, hauling him back before he could take another swing.

"We got back and you were gone. And we thought—I thought—Crowley—What the _fuck_?" Dean yelled. He paused, gasping for air almost as much as Castiel was. "And you're playing around at some church! We've been looking for you for hours."

Castiel struggled upright and waited for something to make sense. Every part of him ached, his head most of all. "I—" Castiel began before another cough wracked his body. There was fresh blood on his tongue, thick and metallic. He swallowed it back down. Then he searched his body for fresh injuries. Aside from the blood already drying on his neck and lips he seemed to be unharmed. His face did hurt from the punch though. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean jerked out of Sam's grasp. "Get in the car."

Castiel nodded. "I heard the bells again. They were ringing. Calling."

"Get in the fucking car," Dean said, enunciating carefully. Sam tried to intervene but he might as well have been invisible. Dean looked right past him, eyes hard as marble.

Castiel nodded again and shuffled towards the brown car. Sam hurried to open the back door for him, positioning himself between Castiel and Dean. For that, Castiel was grateful. Everything seemed surreal and confusing. Like an uneasy dream. He didn't know how he had gotten to the church. But he remembered the bells. The ringing. He hadn't been able to hear anything else.

They drove in silence. He should have been used to it already but the quality of this silence was different. Heavy with tension and the rhythm of Dean's rapidly beating pulse.

The silence lasted until they'd gotten back to the motel. Castiel was amazed that Dean even managed that long. When the door slammed shut and the lock turned, Dean rounded on Castiel.

"What? Angels don't leave notes?"

"Dean—" Sam interrupted.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean shot a narrow eyed glare at his brother. "And why aren't you mad? He broke your fucking head. You don't _buy sandwiches_ for the guy who broke your fucking head." Sam didn't have a chance to respond before Dean turned back to Castiel. "So what, all that crap about looking for us was just bullshit? You run off the first chance you get? Why did you come back? We were fine without you so _why are you here?_"

Castiel stood silent, trying not to wilt beneath the fire in Dean's eyes.

Apparently that was the wrong response.

Dean shoved him back, once, twice, three times, until Castiel hit the wall with a thud. "Say something. _Explain it to me._ Why you couldn't trust us. Trust me. I would've died for you. What about that wasn't good enough?"

Castiel licked his lips. He could barely meet Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"No. No. You don't get to say 'I'm sorry' and pretend like everything is better. Do you even know what you fucking did? Do you?" Dean reared back but Castiel didn't flinch this time. He watched Dean's fist fly at him and lodge in the wall to the left of Castiel's head, cracking the drywall and splitting the bile colored wallpaper. Dean spun away, not seeming to notice his own raw, red knuckles as he ran a hand down his face. "We would've helped you if you'd come to us. But you didn't. You went and sold your soul to a _demon_. Haven't you learned anything, you stupid son of a bitch? You're lucky you don't have a real soul to sell."

Dean paced like a caged animal. He ran his hands through his hair. And Sam hovered off to one side, hands up as if he could contain Dean's anger with ten fingers alone.

"You jerked us around. For months. You lied to us. And when you walked into that lake, I couldn't even be happy about it. It should've been a relief. I should have been fucking glad. And now you think I'm gonna forgive you? Huh? Is that what you think?"

"No," Castiel said, finally gathering himself enough to form words. "I can't… apologize for what I've done. I don't expect you to forgive me."

"Then what do you want?" Dean hissed.

Castiel looked heavenward, imagined he could see through the cracked ceiling to his home with his brothers and sisters who had never been so dear to him as these two humans before him. They had never inspired the same faith or wonder as the Winchesters had despite their many flaws. Almost from the moment he raised Dean from the tortures of Hell, he had wanted just one thing.

Castiel looked up, meeting Dean's glare head on.

"Say something."

A knock at the door interrupted any answer Castiel might have given, assuming he could have found the words for it.

Sam was the closest. He shot a warning look at Dean and Castiel before he twisted the lock and pulled the door open a few inches.

"Everything all right in there?" asked a gruff voice that Castiel recognized from when they'd checked in. He'd been behind the desk at the time, eyeing the trio with suspicion and commenting that the motel only had double rooms, no triples. "Got some complaints about noise."

"Sorry about that," Sam said, and Castiel could hear the phony smile in his voice. "Just tripped with my bag and bumped the wall. I'll be more careful."

The man's face pressed towards the crack in the door as if he meant to force his way in. "Other fellas in there with you? They planning on carrying anything around, too?"

Sam chuckled but the sound was dry and flat. "No. Not right now."

The man grunted and hovered for a long moment before he finally left. Sam locked the door and leaned back against it. He looked between Castiel and Dean, blinking and squinting. He squeezed his hands together.

"Sammy?" Dean said. The suspicion in his voice had Castiel looking too. A fine sheen of sweat stood out on Sam's forehead and his face had gone pale.

There was another knock at the door.

Dean swore under his breath. "Do not disturb!" He moved Sam out of the way so he could get at the doorknob.

"Don't open that," Castiel said, but it was a second too late.

The door opened and Dean flew backwards, hitting the bed closest to the door and tumbling off the other side. He landed in the gap between the two beds with a grunt of something that sounded like "Son of a bitch." While he climbed to his feet, Sam was already in motion. Three demons shoved their way through the open door. Sam swung and his first punch caught one of them in the jaw. The demon smiled. Then with a wave of its hand, Sam went flying in the opposite direction.

The demons turned to Castiel. "Didja miss us?" said the first. Castiel recognized it almost immediately, even if it was wearing a man with thinning hair now. The other two demons came in the form of a woman wearing a pantsuit and a rail thin man in a polo shirt. The three demons from the restaurant. "For a wingless angel, you were a bitch to track down."

Castiel said nothing.

The polo shirt demon smirked. "And you've still got the Winchesters with you. Couldn't live without your fanboy, huh?"

Castiel frowned at that. He didn't know what the demon was talking about but he suspected it was an insult. "Leave them out of this."

The first demon waggled a finger at him. "Nuh uh. Crowley said we could do whatever we want with the Winchesters long as we got you, too."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Dean said. He had the demon killing knife in hand. In the next instant, it was in the first demon's neck. There was a flicker and a flash of orange light around the wound before the demon dropped to the floor.

The rest of it happened very fast. One of the demons rushed Castiel. Just as he realized that he was unarmed, Sam had the woman by the back of the collar. He spun her out and around as Dean took on the man in the polo shirt. There was a flurry of thrown punches and the crackle of the demon knife at work. Somewhere along the line, Sam took two punches to the face. Blood ran from his nose, straight down to his chin. Dean stabbed the pantsuit demon in the back and she stiffened, crumpling to the floor just like the other two demons before her.

There was a long moment of stillness. Dean, Sam, and Castiel looked down at the dead bodies scattered on the carpet like rice.

Then Dean's shoulders began to shake and a trickle of laughter escaped him. He looked at Sam. "Dude, you got beat up by a girl."

"Shut up," Sam said but there was a thin smile curling his lips.

Castiel looked between the two of them and something inside of him squeezed so tight he couldn't breathe. It had been like this once. Despite the apocalypse bearing down on them, there had been a sort of peace. But circumstances had destroyed it. _He_ had destroyed it.

While the Winchesters chuckled, Castiel closed his eyes, just for a moment. And he prayed. This time he prayed not just for himself but for all of them.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>This chapter was a bitch (and I can say that because I upped the rating to T) but I hope it came out okay in the end. If not, please feel free to complain in your review so that I know where I screwed up. You will be doing a great service to mankind. Or at least to me.<em>

_And before I forget, I have a reference to explain again. The church that Castiel winds up in front of may exist (I'm sure there's at least one with the name) but that's not why I chose it. St. Teresa of Avila is the patron saint of headache sufferers (convenient considering the bells going off in Castiel's head) but more importantly she's the patron saint of people in need of grace. I guess that makes it a pun of sorts. :D From what I was reading, she had a lot of opinions on penance, also an appropriate subject for Castiel._

_I think that covers everything. Thank you for reading and helping me procrastinate more effectively. I'm supposed to be upping my Camp NaNoWriMo word count right now. Oops. I couldn't leave you guys hanging for an entire month though. That just seemed mean. Consider this my good deed for the month. Now back to my serious (by which I mean 'less fun') writing. I have a vampire college student to deal with._


	13. Chapter 13

****_Vague spoiler for episode 7.18_ (Party On Garth) _or for episode 7.19. One or the other. You've been warned._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

After the attack at the motel, the Winchesters had wrapped the bodies of the former demons in a large tarp and stashed them in the trunk of their newly stolen brown car. Castiel supposed it was good that they'd traded up from the orange car. Three corpses never would have fit in the little hatchback. Even in the brown car, the fit was tight. Then Sam, Dean, and Castiel piled into the car to drove in stifling silence. Dean fiddled with the radio dial, turning it on and spinning through the stations in rapid succession before finally giving up and turning it off again. Most of the stations were little more than static with the occasional flicker of music and talking, like ghosts trapped in limbo. Sam didn't comment and after a while, Castiel saw his head drift till his chin rested against his chest. A while later, a thin snore escaped Sam's lips. It was the only sound besides the rumble of the engine and the crunch of pavement beneath their tires.

While the sky was still dark overhead, Dean pulled onto an old dirt road. The brown car bounced over the rutted track. It was hardly more than a twin set of frozen divots heading into the dark woods. Everywhere around them were featureless trees and thin, scrubby plants sticking out of the snow. Sam's head flopped to the side, glancing off the passenger side window. Somehow he managed to stay asleep. Castiel watched the moon flit between the formless grey clouds. Without warning, the car pulled over to the side of the narrow road. Dean smacked Sam on the arm to wake him and they both got out without a word. Castiel stayed where he was. No one had said anything to him in hours.

Dean thumped on the roof of the car and pressed his face close to the back window. His voice was muffled, breath fogging the glass until he was barely visible. "You coming or not?"

Castiel stared at him. "Me?"

There was a grumble. Then Dean yanked the door open. "Either you come with or I cuff you to the door. Your choice."

Castiel slid across the seat to the open door and joined them at the back of the car.

The trunk popped open. Sam took one end of the makeshift packet of dead bodies and Dean took the other. There was a clunk and a thump as they collected shovels and the two of them headed into the woods. Castiel followed behind like a shadow, picking his way over the uneven ground and trying not to get too much snow in his shoes. He regretted not buying boots. Now he understood why the Winchesters favored them.

They walked in the dark with only the sound of their footsteps and the wavering beam of the flashlight in Dean's hand. It was silent as the confessional and Castiel found himself watching the trees and the slip of the sky overhead. Heavy white clouds had moved in to block the stars, promising snow in the near future.

Castiel wasn't sure how they knew when to stop but it was a perfectly synchronized dance. Sam and Dean stopped, laying aside their heavy burden and they took up their shovels. A glance passed between them as Dean tested the ground around him with one toe. He found a spot that was soft enough and they dug. The points of their shovels bit into the ground, measuring out a trench about six feet wide. Castiel stood beside a tree and frowned at his injured hand. He wondered how many days it would be before he could free it from its splint.

The slice of shovels in frost hardened dirt and the grunt of exertion went on for a long time. Slowly Castiel started to droop, leaning more and more heavily against the tree at his side as his eyelids sank. The pitter patter of falling earth was like a lullaby.

Castiel stood at attention suddenly, almost losing his balance. He looked around. The trees were empty but he could have sworn he'd heard someone talking. Beside him the Winchesters were busy rolling bodies into the hole they'd dug. They didn't seem to have noticed anything. Castiel turned in a full circle.

Long delayed dawn peeked through the clouds, turning them a pale yellow. Shadows retreated across the forest floor. Nothing could hide there. And even if it could, Sam and Dean should have heard it. They scattered salt and lit the bodies ablaze, undisturbed.

* * *

><p>Castiel stared at the ceiling over the lumpy couch he was attempting to sleep on. Dark, unfamiliar timbers pressed down upon him. He'd been sleeping in motel rooms so long he'd forgotten how to sleep anywhere else. Not that he had many experiences with which to compare it.<p>

His angels were still stashed in his bag. He might have felt more at ease if they'd been beside him like always. He could have used their strength.

When they'd arrived, Sam informed Castiel that the cabin once belonged to a hunter friend of theirs named Rufus. The name meant nothing to Castiel. He couldn't remember ever meeting the man but he nodded at the information all the same. Castiel didn't missed the shadow that crossed Sam's face when he asked where Rufus was.

"Dead," Sam said.

Somehow Castiel felt he might share some blame in that too. The almost accusation lay there in the way Sam wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

"The Leviathan don't know about this place. We should be safe here," Sam continued. Then he'd handed Castiel a blanket and told him to get some rest. Castiel thought it would have been more honest if Sam had just told him he didn't want to talk about it.

So Castiel stared at the ceiling and pretended to sleep while the Winchesters lay on their own cots and pretended to sleep. Castiel was not fooled. He doubted he had fooled them either.

He didn't know what he'd heard in the woods. Maybe it was just a dream. His sleep had been peppered with voices and memories that didn't belong to him, perhaps relics of Jimmy. Or maybe they were the kind of dreams that people always dreamed. He had no way of knowing. Someday he would be able to ask Sam or Dean. Surely they would know. They had been human all their lives. They must know how these things worked. At least he presumed so.

Eventually Castiel slept.

He stood in a field though he had no recollection of how he'd gotten there. He didn't remember leaving the cabin or going outside. There was no snow on the ground. Everywhere he looked there was an endless expanse of tall, green grass waving in a pleasant breeze. Flowers that he recognized as columbines dotted the field. They waggled their strange petals at him in greeting. The field went on for miles before it arched up to the slope of a mountain painted blue by the distance.

Castiel turned in a circle.

Everything was still and silent except for the whisper of the grass. Or at least it should have been.

It was faint.

Castiel looked up at the blue sky arching overhead. Not a cloud to be seen. No matter how he squinted, there was nothing to see beyond the sky. Only blue. Miles and miles of blue forever and ever.

It was… peaceful. The kind of place his little resin angels would feel at home in. He would have been unsurprised to find them frolicking in the field. Perhaps dancing in a circle with flowers in their wavy hair.

For now he was alone.

He cocked his head to one side and listened. The sound was still there, barely audible, the source hidden. The bells. Castiel squinted into the distance until his eyes watered but he couldn't see the bells. Eventually they would find him instead. He felt sure of it. He just had to be ready when they did.

Castiel opened his eyes. The peace of the field still clung to him like the scent of wild flowers.

Dappled light filtered in the windows of the cabin. It spotted the floor beside him like lace. Castiel placed the time as late afternoon. He had fallen asleep after all. Sam was snoring quietly on his cot, feet hanging off the end, toes uncovered. Castiel sat up. Dean was nowhere to be found.

Castiel went to the window. The promised snow had collected in the trees and clumped together on the ground looking pristine and brilliant. Soon it would be dingy and littered with leaves. A draft passed around him and Castiel turned. Nothing had moved. Sam still slept. He was alone. So why didn't he feel like it?

Castiel dropped back onto the couch and shoved his feet into his shoes. It took him two tries to tie them. His fingers had become no more agile since Sam had initially wrapped them.

He tiptoed out of the cabin, closing the door quickly behind him to keep from waking Sam with the sudden gust of chill wind. The air was colder outside than he had expected. Even after months spent experiencing winter, it always caught him by surprise. Castiel wondered if he would ever truly get used to it.

Castiel tucked his thick, wool coat around him and settled on the top step. His breath fogged the air. He watched it drift away, swirling into the wind. Then he bowed his head and folded his hands.

He hadn't prayed properly in weeks. Bouncing from town to town, place to place, chasing jobs and his own memory of the Winchesters. At one point, he'd almost started to think he was mistaken. Perhaps he would never find them, wasn't _meant_ to find them. After everything he had done, all the people he had harmed, more than he could ever put a number to, maybe he was not meant to accomplish the task. Hell on earth. Endlessly searching and never finding. Like Sisyphus and his rock. Or perhaps, more apt would be Orpheus. Because Castiel had achieved his goal long ago and he had not trusted in it enough to keep it. But by some miracle, the Winchesters had found him and they had accepted him. However begrudging, they had done it. And for that Castiel could only be grateful.

"Thank you, Father. I don't know if you're listening or if you had a hand in leading me to the Winchesters, but thank you. I will…" He swallowed thickly, forcing the rest of the words out through chapped lips. "I will do better this time."

"Aren't you a sorry sight," commented a familiar voice from behind Castiel.

Castiel started and was on his feet in a moment. Bobby stood just beside the door to the cabin, arms folded, and looking much too pale.

"Hello to you, too," Bobby said after an exceptionally long pause. "Mind holding up your end of the conversation here? I've been bored outta my mind."

"You shouldn't be here," Castiel said.

"Neither should you. But here we are. Guess we're just lucky."

"They don't know," Castiel said after another moment's thought, "do they?"

"Not far as I can tell. Believe me, I've been trying but so far they don't hear a word I'm saying to 'em. Damn boys always were stubborn." Bobby smiled faintly, fondness clear in the curl of his lip. Then he flickered like a candle flame about to go out. "Didn't think it'd be so damn hard when I stayed. Movies make it look so easy."

Castiel glanced around to make sure that they were still alone. Not a tree branch rustled and Sam still seemed to be fast asleep on his cot. When Castiel checked, Sam had rolled onto his side. He twitched and kicked his legs before falling still again. "What happened?" Castiel asked, turning back to Bobby.

Bobby tapped his forehead. "Some dick shot me." He smiled darkly. "The head Dick. Levi boss."

Castiel felt suddenly cold. His stomach churned until he forced it back into stillness. "I'm sorry," Castiel whispered. It seemed that everywhere he turned he had more to apologize for.

"We can get squared away later. First you gotta do me a favor."

"What?" Castiel shifted and looked away, back at the cabin.

"Need you to give a message to the boys."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: <em>References, references everywhere but not a drop to drink. Or something like that. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I worked in two mythology references in two sentences. Woo hoo. And one of them was a subtle reference back to Supernatural. Bonus points!<em>

Sisyphus_ was cursed to roll a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down again. Forever. For more info feel free to browse Wikipedia or your nearest book on Greek mythology. Dean also used the analogy in _Adventures in Babysitting.

Orpheus_ is also from Greek mythology. After his wife (Eurydice) died and went to Hades, Orpheus travelled to the underworld, charmed Hades and Persephone with his beautiful music, and was allowed to take Eurydice back. With one warning: Eurydice would follow Orpheus out of the underworld but he was not to look at her until they'd both reached the land of the living. Just before they left the underworld, Orpheus turned back to see if Eurydice was there. Because he hadn't heeded the warning, Eurydice was taken away from him a second time. Permanently. So. A nice happy story but it's one of my favorites._

_Now that that's all explained, time for the chatter. There was much debate (and probably a lot of me sounding like a crazy person) about whether Sam and Dean would bury the now dead meatsuits or if they would salt and burn them as a precaution. So I had them do both. Can't be leaving dead bodies all over the place when they're trying to lay low. If you disagree, feel free to complain at me. I'm always up for a good crazy sounding debate._

_This chapter took me FOREVER to write and it's not that actiony but it can't all be demon ganking and snail speed Walmart shopping. I hope you'll forgive me. And Cas. He needed some time to stare at things meaningfully.  
><em>

_As ever, sorry for making you guys wait so long for updates. Much to do. And now tumblr has sucked me in and swallowed my soul whole. I keep posting Supernatural/Misha related cartoons there. It's a sickness I tell you. And while I'm apologizing, I apologize if this chapter isn't as well edited as usual. My printer decided to start eating the paper instead of printing on it (very sad. I drew a cartoon about that too) so I'm stuck editing onscreen instead of taking the unholy red pen to my printed chapters. I hope to have it fixed soon. In the meantime, yell at me about any glaring errors. I can't pay you (except in more fanfiction) so don't ask. (:_

Shameless plug:_ I'm mixeduppainter over on tumblr. Come visit me and encourage my procrastination._


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